


Imagine A Man

by orphan_account



Series: Prompt Fest [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Magic, Blind Harry, Deceit, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmarks, Soulmates, editor harry, famous James Potter, lawyer Draco, ridiculous marauders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7392208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has to trust people more than he'd like to, so when a man lies to him about having matching soul marks to get Harry into bed, he's determined to never let that happen again.  When he meets a stranger lawyer at the local not long after, Harry decides to enlist his family's help to tell whether or not Draco Malfoy really does have a matching mark or not.  If only his family wasn't so, utterly hopeless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine A Man

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: “Person A is blind and once before someone claimed to share his mark but the turned out to be lying just to sleep with them so now they have to sneakily have a friend confirm that person Bs mark is actually the same” soulemate au with drarry? Thanks!
> 
> I've only really done a handful of Drarry so I'm iffy about their characterisations (as usual) Hopefully this has turned out alright anyway. x

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Harry squeezed his eyes shut at the onslaught of footie fans screaming his dad’s name at the screen. Why, what curse did Harry have that his dad had to get famous—and stay famous? Like weren’t they all supposed to age and retire and let him be in peace? It was bad enough that the entire world could recognise Harry on sight for how much he looked like James, but the endless questions about a sport Harry had never played, nor did he care to, were so tiring.

He’d begged Ron to meet him at the local, hoping they’d have something else on besides the damned match—not that he held much hope for it, just praying for a miracle lately—and Ron was now twenty minutes late. Harry pulled out his mobile, slipped the earbud into his ear, and pressed the button for his messages.

Nothing new from his so-called best-mate, and he wasn’t going to bother sending a, where the fuck are you text. He’d just get pissed and then drunk-dial someone for a ride home so he wouldn’t have to attempt to figure out the bus whilst trying to maintain.

“What can I get for you?” came a quiet voice. Harry didn’t recognise it, but it had been a few months since he’d been down to the local and he knew that Tom was trying to hire on a younger crowd to bring in more business near to Harry’s age.

“Um. Just…how about a pint to start. Of lager. Whatever you like, I’m not fussed.” Harry folded up his cane and set it to the right, where he always kept it. He had on his glasses, though with his myopia as severe as it was, and the tunnel vision worse and worse with the passing years, he couldn’t see much more than a pinpoint of colourful blur. But it helped when trying to aim for the toilet or reach for a bowl of chips. Which reminded him, “Er. Chips and curry sauce as well.”

He saw movement in the centre of his vision, and the clink of the pint glass hitting the bar. “You got it.”

“Cheers,” Harry said, curling his fingers round the cool glass. The bartender sounded somewhere near his own age, though he was kind of a shit guesser when it came to that. He normally felt very secure in his own ability to define the world around him. He’d been legally blind from birth, and his vision had worsened over the years, so he’d always interpreted things differently.

But his confidence had been shaken recently.

Then again, being blind in a world where shitty things like soulmate marks existed, tended to do that to a bloke. Harry normally relied on Ron to tell when a person was lying. Harry had a vague description of his own mark, a sort of a lightning bolt-looking thing, with a half-circle to the side of it, and a line down the middle. None of it made sense, but it was what it was.

And three weeks prior, Harry had been at a small café near the campus trying to shovel a sandwich into his gut before he had to race off when he was approached by a bloke with a deep voice and friendly demeanour who said something along the lines of, “You know, I always thought it was just a barmy birthmark. I thought my parents were lying.”

It was drinks after that, and the feeling of soft finger pads tracing along the soul mark. Then there’d been kissing and stumbling into Harry’s flat. “It’s on my lower stomach,” he’d said. He said he was called Jacob, and Harry had kissed down Jacob’s chest, and allowed Jacob to guide him to where the soul mark sat, and he laved it with his tongue before going down and down and…

It wasn’t that Harry didn’t have experience. He’d dated quite a lot. Had nearly been engaged to Ginny until she took the position with the Italian woman’s footie team—James had wept tears of joy, then sorrow when Harry announced he would not be going with her or carrying on their relationship—and he’d recently broken up with Cedric after six long months.

Luckily not everyone had a soul mark, not everyone was destined to end up with their “perfect” match, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. His parents insisted they had one, but for all they constantly fought with each other Harry always insisted they were lying about it. He believed them, of course. Envied their relationship in a way.

They were sort of on his mind later that night, after he and Jacob fell to the sheets and their breathing evened out. The sex had been great, if not a little selfish on Jacob’s part, but Harry just reckoned they had to get to know each other better. Soulmates or not, I mean, they were pretty close to strangers.

The next morning, Harry had woken up alone, with a note on the pillow which was more than frustrating. Even holding it up to his nose and squinting through his strongest pair of glasses, he couldn’t make out the writing. So he did the only thing he could do.

He rang up Remus who showed up with Teddy half an hour later.

Harry didn’t even say hello, just shoved the note at his godfather and said, “Read this please. I don’t care if it’s filthy.”

Remus cleared his throat. “It says, ‘thanks for the shag, mate. Sorry about all the lying.’ Then there’s a drawing of something that looks like…” Remus hesitated. “Looks a bit like a tree?”

“Fuck.” Harry sat down hard on the sofa and put his face in his hands. “I am such a fucking moron. I bet that wasn’t even his real name.”

He was met with an armful of Teddy who demanded a cuddle, and Harry used very censored language to explain the situation to Remus who did not censor himself at all—much to Teddy’s displeasure and attempt to put his father in time-out—when he swore roundly.

“Well I called you in because if I’d called Sirius he’d just have gone mad and broken something in an attempt to find this bloke. Which I can’t even give a description of because you know…”

Remus sighed, then sat down on the sofa and put his arm round Harry’s shoulders. “Has this ever happened before?”

“No,” Harry said. He let his head rest back against the cushions. “Why are sighed people such shite?”

Remus laughed. “Dunno. If I figure out the answer to that, I’ll let you know.”

“Please do,” Harry said absently, giving Teddy’s curls a ruffle. “Don’t be shit, mini,” he told the toddler. “Alright?”

“Yeah awite,” Teddy said, then kissed Harry’s cheek. “Kisses make it better?”

Harry grinned. “Yeah kid. Kisses make it better.”

It set the mood for Harry for the next three weeks, which was why he was not thrilled when another body took up a stool far too close for his liking. Harry kept his sleeves tucked down near his wrists so he wouldn’t have another incident, and he turned his face away when the bloke next to him ordered.

“Scotch and soda, and do you have anything for take-away? I’m in a rush.”

The bartender listed off a few things, and he quickly ordered a fish and chips. “If you could be quite quick about it,” he snapped.

Harry rolled his eyes. “You know you’re not the only person in here, right?”

“I’m sorry?” the stranger demanded.

“Be quite quick about it? Mate, the pub is full and there’s probably at least a dozen orders in before yours. The kitchen will go as fast as they can, and you can be patient.” Harry wasn’t sure where the animosity was coming from, but he was annoyed by the way people treated others. First year psych said it had everything to do with him recently being taken advantage of, but what the fuck did those texts really know, anyway?

“Listen you…I mean what are you, a chef? What the fuck do you care, anyway?”

“I care because it’s easy to not be a twat. I mean, really. Just…don’t be a twat. See, easy enough. And no, I’m not a chef.” Harry picked up his pint glass and sat back a bit.

After a beat, “They don’t let blind people cook food or something?”

Harry snorted into his drink, feeling the sting of it in his sinuses, and he sneezed twice before he could answer. “Christ. I dunno, I’ve never actually looked into it.”

“Is that like…a pun?” the stranger asked.

Harry rolled his eyes again. “No, my puns are few and clever. I work in publishing.”

“I didn’t ask,” the stranger said.

Harry blinked rapidly behind his glasses, then took them off and shoved them into his pocket. “Fair enough. Enjoy your fish and chips.”

The stranger grunted, then Harry could hear the sounds of him gulping down the scotch and soda for several moments. “How is that though? Working in publishing? I’m in law and I bloody-well hate it.”

Harry contemplated not answering, but finally let out a breath and shrugged. “Could be worse. I’ve had worse jobs. Uni shit, you know. Retail.”

There was a silence, and Harry had to assume the stranger had pulled a face, or possibly nodded.

“Not sure if you gestured there, but anyway. It’s…it has its moments. Authors can be a massive pain in the arse. Think everything they shit out is bloody Shakespeare or something, and it’s a crime against nature to make a single change. But there are good ones. And the money isn’t bad.”

“Fair enough. Don’t suppose you need me to explain why law is the worst?”

“No. Not really,” Harry said. “I’ve worked with our legal department enough.”

“Mine’s political law so,” the stranger sighed heavily. “I’m sure you can imagine.” There was another pause, then the stranger made a slight choking sound. “You know there’s a bloke on the telly right now who looks freakishly like you doing the most ridiculous dance I have ever seen.”

“Footie player, Indian, stupid hair? Big ridiculous goggles over his face,” Harry said, miming the safety goggles James wore.

“You know him?”

“My dad,” Harry said with a sigh. “James Potter. You follow that stuff?”

“Football?” The stranger was silent, and Harry assumed there was another gesture there. “Not really for me. Haven’t the time, you know. So he’s famous or something?”

“Playing for England right now, doing surprisingly well so he’s fucking insufferable to talk to,” Harry said, but he couldn’t help a tiny smile of pride. He and James had always been close, and as much as it annoyed him, he wanted this for his dad. “Normally he plays for Chelsea.”

“Ah.”

Harry’s mobile buzzed then, and he slipped his earbud into his ear to listen to the message. The tinny, annoying voice chirped in his ear, ‘I’m here, at the kerb with the car so get your arse out here. I can’t stay, Hermione’s having a shit-fit about work but I can give you a lift home.’

Harry sighed, then reached into his pocket for his wallet. He pulled out a few notes folded carefully to tell him they were fivers, and he set them on the bar top. “Sorry, my ride’s here. This your local?”

The stranger was silent, then cleared his throat. “Sorry. I nodded. New office, so I suppose it is.”

“Maybe I’ll see you round. Laterz.” Harry unfolded his cane, put his glasses back on and turned. After a few steps, he turned back, “That was a pun. And you’re allowed to laugh.” And with that, he made his way outside.

*** 

“Can I ask you a question?”

Harry was at a table at the pub, three days after his bizarre encounter with the fish and chips stranger. He had his laptop up, his refresher plugged in, and one earbud in for the audio. He turned his head slightly, and saw a fuzzy figure hovering over his shoulder, and he smiled when he recognised the voice.

“Go on,” Harry said.

“What do you do? At the publishing house?”

“I’m a senior editor,” Harry said. He grinned again when he heard the second chair pull out, and the stranger sit. “Basically I take on the shit that the other editors can’t, or don’t want to handle. I do a lot of management which can be absolute shite. I’ve run a couple of writer’s conferences during the year, but I prefer to avoid those because they take ages and the writers never fucking listen to our advice anyway.”

There was a long pause, then he said, “I looked your dad up.”

“And by proxy, me?” Harry asked.

“Well. He’s got two kids, but only one of them is blind.”

Harry snorted, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, as the air had become a bit hot from all the bodies piling in to see the match. England was on the cusp of making it to the cup. They had to crush France in the match that night, and as much as Harry wanted to pretend he didn’t care, his stomach was rolling with anticipation.

“Some might argue my brother’s worse than I am. But his glasses actually help him see things.”

“And yours don’t?”

Instead of answering, Harry crossed his arms and leant back. “So you know my name. Are you like…hiding something or just rude?”

“Just rude,” the stranger said, then after a beat, “It’s Draco.”

Harry blinked rapidly. “Like as in…the constellation. Are you related to Sirius Black?”

Draco snorted. “Yeah I worked that one out as well, since he was listed on your dad’s Wikipedia. Never met him. Family shit, you know.”

“Suppose I do,” Harry said. “He never talks about it though. So that’s…interesting.”

“This city is too small.” Draco shifted the chair back with a loud squeak. “I’m going to get a pint. Can I grab anything for you?”

“Refill. I’m having gin and tonic tonight.”

The silence felt a bit more oppressive, and Harry carefully dragged his fingers over the braille, marking his spot with the mouse before shutting his laptop screen. He carefully packed everything away, knowing he wasn’t going to concentrate once the game got going, and honestly as much as he probably shouldn’t—and Sirius would have a shit-fit about it—he was enjoying his conversation with the other man.

When Draco returned, he set the gin and tonic near Harry’s knuckles. “Am I like…supposed to warn you where I set that?”

Harry shook his head. “Only if you don’t say anything about it. Actually servers do it a lot. Sometimes my and Sirius like to play drinking games when we go out to eat with how many glasses I knock over before the server starts to actually warn me when they set a refill down.”

Draco laughed quietly as he resumed his seat. After a moment, there was a cheer. “Game’s started.”

“Yeah. Uh. Would you mind keeping me up to date on the scores? I like to pretend like I don’t give a shit. You know, part of my, devil-may-care, fuck the parents aesthetic. But I’m hoping England wins.”

“Well any chance we get to fuck over the French, and I’m all in,” Draco said. “Right now France has the ball, but they’re not doing well.”

“Good. We need to crush them tonight. I think we need to win by sixty points. My mum said dad was up all night pacing.”

“Not exactly good for his performance, I’d imagine.”

“He works better under pressure and exhaustion,” Harry said. “An unfortunate trait I picked up from him.” He offered Draco a smile and leant his forearm on the table.

There was a sudden choking sound, then Draco said. “Um. You have a soul mark. Unless it’s a tattoo but it…but you…”

Harry’s hand instantly went to it, and his hand pressed over it. “Oh. Yeah. That. I guess it’s like a family thing, I dunno. They haven’t done a lot of research on them, you know? I mean I’m kind of iffy about the whole thing, frankly.”

“Have you…do you know what it looks like?”

Harry licked his lips. “Well, yeah it’s been described to me. Not that it ever really made sense or whatever but I kind of get it. Why, have you got one? Do you buy into the whole, marry your soulmate thing?”

There was a very long pause. “I do. And I don’t…know. Never really thought.”

There was something strange in his voice though, and Harry felt his throat tighten. He had a sudden, almost violent urge to ring up Ron and demand to find Draco’s and describe it in detail. He was far too afraid to ask, it was too easy to lie to him about it, and Harry would not be taken advantage again.

“Well I think it’s all a bit rubbish. You mind if we drop it?”

“Not at all,” Draco said, sounding relieved. They spent the rest of the night with Draco giving sarcastic commentary about the game, and when England won, by eight-seven points, the pair hugged a bit drunkenly, and then arm-in-arm, went out to find a taxi.

“Fuck,” Harry said, stumbling a bit. He had his cane out, but knew it was probably a bad idea to try and use it. “Taxi?”

“Just in front of you,” Draco said with a snort. “See you again?”

“Not if I see you first,” Harry said, leaning into him. “Okay no, that was a bad one. Strike that from the record.”

“Leave the law jargon to me and get in the fucking taxi,” Draco said, shoving Harry toward it.

Harry’s hands went out, finding the handle, and he wrenched it open. “Thursday,” Harry said.

“I’ll be here. Tell your dad I said congratulations.”

Harry mumbled something along the lines of, “I will if he won’t be a prat about it,” and then the taxi was driving off and Harry was having a hard time remember why he needed to be cautious around Draco Malfoy.

*** 

James Potter was insufferable as usual, which was to say not insufferable at all really, as he truly was a delightful person. He was at the table, sat between Sirius and Harry whilst Remus and Lily were giving Harry’s younger brother, Charlie, a bit of life advice since he was coming up on the defence of his thesis.

“So,” Sirius said after a long pause, “your godfather sold you out. He told me about the soul mark and that…that fucking…”

Harry groaned, pulling off his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I knew he would. He’s better than you, but he can’t keep a sodding secret.”

“Tell me you found this little prick,” Sirius demanded.

“Well no,” Harry said. “As I’ve no idea what his second name is or what he looks like, or what he does for a living…and don’t give me shit about sleeping with someone on the first date because I’ve heard stories. About both of you,” Harry clarified.

James huffed, clearly in the loop now. “What was he called again?”

“Jacob.”

“This is what you get for trusting these white boys,” Sirius said. “You have to be more discerning.”

“Well it’s not like it’s easy to tell for me, is it?” Harry defended, though he was lying because he had plenty of ways to tell, he had just been distracted by the fact that maybe this bloke actually shared his soul mark and they were fated to be together.

“You’re so full of shit,” Sirius said.

Harry scowled. “Why’re you mad at me, anyway! It’s not like I did it on purpose, and it’s not like it matters. I’m not going to trust anyone again who tries to tell me they’ve got it.”

“How will you know?” James asked.

Harry shrugged one shoulder. “Dunno. Maybe I’ll just date someone and not give a shit if they’ve got it.”

“Or, you could let us spy on your next one,” Sirius said, sounding far too excited for Harry’s liking. However, as unfortunate as it was, the idea had some merit. “We could you know, go under cover. Me and your dad and…”

“That’s actually not going to work,” Harry said. “I mean, the under cover bit. One look at him and everyone’s going to know he’s James Potter, and so I’ve been told, we apparently look alike.”

James snorted. “He’s got you there, Pads.”

“Fuck off,” Sirius said. “We can still scope them for you. A sort of meet the parents thing.”

“You’re not his parent,” Remus put in helpfully from the other side of the table.

“I’m as good as,” Sirius countered. “He puked on me first. His first hour of life, if you recall. And I was his first word.”

“I still maintain he was not trying to say Padfoot,” Lily countered.

“Listen, we’re having a personal, private conversation which does not involve the rest of you,” Sirius threw his arm round Harry and dragged him in close, “so bugger off. Now, Haz, as I was saying…”

“Actually,” Harry interrupted, “there is someone you could check out for me. Only…you’re not going to like it.”

There was a tense pause before James asked, “Is it a French person?”

Harry snorted. “Christ, no. And get over it. You beat them this year.”

“Yes well I haven’t forgotten last,” James countered.

“Or what happened to Moony on the metro,” Sirius put in.

“Five years ago,” Harry said, though he knew it was useless to row with the pair of them. “Anyway he’s not _French_ okay. But you um. Know him. Or know of him.”

“Who you? Me you?” James asked.

Harry tried not to groan at how his father and godfather turned everything into a bleeding three-ring circus. “Both of you. Jesus.” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s your cousin’s son, Si. Narcissa.”

“Draco?” Sirius blurted. “What did we just say about white boys!”

“Well he’s half, isn’t he?” Harry countered. “Like me.”

“But he comes from Narcissa,” Sirius whinged. “All pale and obnoxious and snobby and…”

“You know, I heard stories about you as well. Maybe he’s not all bad,” Harry said.

“Oh god, you’ve been dating him,” Sirius said, his voice dripping with horror. Harry heard Sirius’ forehead hit the top of the table. “This is the worst day of my life. It’s over. Tell Teddy I love him, Moony. I can’t go on.”

Harry heard the chair next to him scrape back, and smelt the distinct scent that was his other godfather. “What’s this now?”

“Well,” Harry said, deciding to go all in, “the thing is, I met a nice bloke at the pub the other day. Turns out he’s Narcissa’s son. We’ve got to know each other a bit and I have a suspicion he might have my soul mark. He didn’t say,” Harry put in before Remus could remind him of the mistake before, “but he got a bit weird when he saw mine. So I’d like someone I trust to you know…verify. Though now that I mention it, dunno why I’m trusting these two. They’d just lie.”

James spluttered. “As much as the idea of you being with one of Sirius’ horrid relatives horrifies me,” James said, “I would never, ever lie to you.”

Harry sighed. “I know. God, no one around here can take a damned joke. I still think Moony might be better for this mission. He could at least get the information for me without terrifying him and ruining my chances.”

“It would be for your own good,” Sirius grumbled.

Remus put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and leant over. “Sirius, I love you, but you do not know what’s for his own good. If we want to catalogue things you’ve thought were for people’s own good, you would not come out looking like a winner.”

“Whyyyy are we married?” Sirius demanded.

“Because you’ve got a full moon on your bare arse,” James said with a grin.

“I hate everyone,” Sirius groaned.

Harry pulled Sirius close and hugged him. “I appreciate that you want to keep me safe. I’m only asking because we’ve gotten along really well and I like him. And I would think you’d want me happy. Besides, you and Reg turned out just fine, didn’t you? Don’t you think he deserves the benefit of the doubt?”

Sirius sighed, leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder. “Who raised you to be so reasonable.”

“Well,” Harry said carefully, “it definitely wasn’t any of you lot.”

*** 

Three days later, Harry was at the pub, at the bar, trying not to think about his godfathers and his father, and his mum sat at a table trying to look conspicuous and probably failing miserably. There was no sign of Draco so far, but Harry’d come a bit early.

Just as he was starting to think the other man wouldn’t show, a voice spoke in his ear. “So. Entourage today?” Draco asked.

“My family terrifies me. They should terrify everyone,” Harry groaned. “Are they staring? They are, aren’t they?”

“Well, your dad’s trying to look like he’s reading a paper. But it’s upside down. Your mum’s laughing at him. Sirius—I recognised him from a few photos Andi has around—is clinging to the curly-haired one which I assume is his husband. All we’re missing is your brother?”

“He’s minding Teddy. My godson. Sirius’ and Remus’ kid.”

“Nym’s kid,” Draco said. “I actually know him, you know. Nym and Fleur bring him round sometimes for Christmas since he only does Haunkkah with your lot.”

Harry laughed. “Right, yeah. He’s pretty cool, isn’t he?”

“Not one for kids, but he’s alright.” Draco slid onto the stool and ordered a pint. It was the signal for the investigation to begin.

The plan was to spill something on Draco’s jacket so he’d have to take it off. Then they could hopefully get a look at the mark. Harry thought the plan was a disaster waiting to happen and well…it was.

James was the first to try, but stumbled over his words, then was accosted by several patrons asking for autographs and he had to return to his table unsuccessful. Sirius tried next, but ended up spilling all over Harry, shouting some vague threats in Arabic—to which Draco responded flawlessly and Harry cursed himself for never listening when Sirius spoke his mother tongue. Sirius was eventually sent back, head hung in shame as Harry sat there a bit soggy, smelling of beer, and very annoyed.

Finally it was Lily who ended the madness. Harry heard her shoes clicking as she walked over and introduced herself. Then she said, “Draco, love, do you mind if I…” There was a long pause, and Draco made a small sound of protest, but when it was over, Lily put her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Yes, love. It’s alright this time.” She kissed his cheek, and five minutes later she managed to shepherd Harry’s ridiculous family out the door.

After a long while, Draco said, “So…that was…planned?”

Harry felt his cheeks heat up with a flush. “Ah well. They were supposed to be a bit more stealthy, though I’m not sure why I thought they’d be capable of it.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, and grimaced at the beer smell. “It’s just…I had a thing, a few weeks ago. And I was feeling nervous.”

“Are you going to elaborate?” Draco asked after Harry’s long pause.

Harry licked his lips, brushed his fingers over his forearm, then said, “Can we get out of here, actually? I think I’d like to be literally anywhere else.”

“Yeah,” Draco said. “Yeah. You live far? I’d offer mine but I’m in Islington.”

“Nah I’m close, just round the corner. I only take a taxi when I’m too pissed to manage my cane.” Harry grabbed said cane as Draco settled their tab, and before long they were heading down the pavement toward Harry’s.

They were walking close, elbows brushing every so often until Harry just decided piss it, and reached out to link their hands together. Draco startled a little, but allowed it, and they finally stopped in front of Harry’s block. Shoving his key into the door, Harry led the way to the lifts, his finger brushing along the braille tags, pushing his own floor, and they rode up.

“Live alone?” Draco asked as the doors pinged open.

Harry nodded as he took out his key, and opened his flat door. He let Draco step inside, then he felt along the wall for the switch, flicking on the lights before banging his keys, mobile, and cane down on his small table. “This is me. Not much, but honestly I feel like I’m only ever here to sleep and sometimes eat. My dad’s always insisting I come over so he can feed me. He’s terrified Charlie and I will waste away if he’s not shovelling food down our faces.”

Draco snorted. “Lovely. Why have you got lego?”

“Teddy’s,” Harry said. He led the way into the lounge, and flopped onto the sofa. “I feel like I should be proper enough to offer you tea but…”

“With the whole soul mark elephant in the room,” Draco finished for him. “Might as well just get to that.” He took a seat close enough so their knees brushed.

“A few weeks ago I was at this café grabbing lunch. The week had been murder and I had been doing a guest lecture at King’s for one of their creative writing classes. I had like twenty minutes to stuff my face when this bloke comes up to me and tells me his soul mark matches my own. I was by myself so I didn’t have the chance to verify it, you know. But I thought, who the hell would lie about something like that.”

“Jesus,” Draco hissed.

Harry shrugged. “It was stupid of me to trust like that. But I did. We shagged and he left a note on my pillow the next morning. Had to have Remus over to read it for me and he was just like, haha thanks for the shag, soz for the lie. It didn’t feel great.”

“Any chance you know where to find him? I’d like to plot revenge against a bastard who thought he could be me,” Draco said.

Harry laughed. “Unfortunately not. Honestly I’m sure he’ll get his. Karma and all that. But that’s why I had my family check on you, as twattish as they were about the whole thing. But I trust my mum.”

“She wasn’t lying.” Draco shifted so they were side, to side, and Harry felt him lift up his sleeve. “Mine’s in the same place as yours. I never show it off.”

Harry grabbed Draco’s forearm and pushed it almost up against his nose. His eyes strained to see the marks on his pale flesh, and couldn’t make out the exact markings, but he could see they were there. When he dropped Draco’s arm, he let his hand fall to the other man’s thigh, and kept it there. “So. Suppose that’s something. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Dunno. Seemed wrong you couldn’t tell for yourself,” Draco said. “And honestly I wasn’t sure I bought into the whole soul mark thing. I mean what’s the point of it? We hear bells? Trumpets? Best sex of our lives?”

Harry laughed. “Both my godparents and my parents have them, and they think they’re given to stubborn people who otherwise might ignore a good thing when it’s dangling right in front of them.”

Draco was quiet for a moment, then he laughed. “You didn’t like me at first.”

“You were being an arse,” Harry protested. “Talking to the poor bartender like that as though you were the only person in the pub!”

“I was in a rush!” Draco countered.

“Doesn’t mean you can talk to people like that. Doesn’t mean you can…” Harry’s words were cut off when a warm hand touched his cheek, and he felt his whole body flush. “Draco,” he said quietly.

“We’re doing it again.” Draco shifted so he was facing Harry, and put his other hand against the side of Harry’s neck. “I don’t know whether I want to shout at you or snog your stupid face off.”

Harry laughed, pushing his face into Draco’s palm. “I wouldn’t be opposed to the kissing, if we’re being honest. I’ve been thinking about it a while now, but I was just…worried.”

“That apart from my twattish behaviour toward public service workers I’d also be a disgusting liar?”

“You are a lawyer,” Harry pointed out.

“Oh my god you,” Draco began, but he was cut off when Harry closed the distance between them, and their lips met. They slotted together at first a little awkward, like they were trying to find their footing. Then Draco turned his head just so, and Harry’s mouth opened under his, and their tongues slid together gentle and soft, and a little needy.

Harry pressed himself close to Draco, his hands curling round Draco’s slender hips, and they kissed and kissed until they were too hot, and too breathless to carry on. When Harry pulled back, Draco didn’t let him get too far, pushing their foreheads together.

“Well.”

Harry laughed. “Suppose so. Maybe the rumours are true about that whole shagging thing.”

“It being the best in your life?” Draco offered.

Harry nodded, rubbing his nose alongside Draco’s. “Don’t you think it’s worth exploring?”

Draco snorted and tugged Harry in for one more kiss. “I do. But I promise you, the reason it’s the best in your life isn’t because of these stupid marks.” He brought Harry’s wrist up, and placed a hot kiss over the soul mark.

“Oh yeah?” Harry asked, breathless and groaning.

Draco smirked against his skin. “Yeah. When I blow your mind, amongst other things, it’ll be because I’m just that fucking good.”

“And so humble,” Harry said as he allowed Draco to drag him down to the cushions.

Draco hovered over him and kissed down his neck hotly. “Never. But trust me, you’re definitely going to come out the winner in this.”


End file.
